


Even Though It All Went Wrong

by Chash



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/M, Friends With Benefits
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-06
Updated: 2016-09-06
Packaged: 2018-08-13 08:06:46
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,862
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7968889
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Chash/pseuds/Chash
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Clarke knew that Bellamy didn't date. But she didn't know he'd never dated. Like, ever. Or even hooked up. And she definitely didn't think he'd want to try it out with her to try to get the hang of it.</p><p>It is, objectively speaking, a terrible idea. And she's totally going to do it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Even Though It All Went Wrong

When Bellamy says, "I think I want to start dating," Clarke is prepared in the same way she assumes people who have fallout shelters are prepared for nuclear war. The possibility has always existed, and even felt inevitable, but she'd still hoped she'd never actually live to see it. Which maybe makes her a bad friend, but--it wasn't like she wanted him to die alone and miserable or anything.

She mostly never wanted him to date anyone _else_.

But she hasn't figured out how to make that happen yet, so first she has to deal with the apocalypse at hand. "Yeah?"

He huffs, leans back on the couch, closing his eyes. He's been her best friend for two years, ever since he stopped being her enemy, and he's always had priorities that come before his love life. Now that his sister is of legal age and off to college, he _deserves_ to start his own life, and he has been, slowly. He's got a decent job and is working on a better one, got a new apartment and something like a social life outside of Clarke. Or--in addition to Clarke. She's usually still there.

Dating is the next logical step, and she should definitely support him.

"I'm not doing anything else, right?"

"If you're bored, you could just get a hobby," she teases.

"Yeah, but--I should be dating, right?"

That, at least, is easy. "Do you want to be dating? If yes, work on it. If no, don't. Easiest flowchart ever." She pauses. "But just wanting to date isn't a guarantee you'll be able to. Look at Jasper."

"It's not just--" He sits up, picks up his beer and shakes it, frowning when there's nothing inside. Clarke passes her half-full bottle over, and he drains it.

"That bad?" she asks.

"I've never dated before."

"It's not actually hard. I can give you some pointers."

He gives her a look she can't read. "Like--never. Nothing."

"It's not a big deal."

"It is."

"You want to go on practice dates?" she offers, without really thinking about it. 

"Kind of. But that's not really--I'm not worried about the _dates_."

"I feel like we're getting farther away from the issue."

He puts the beer bottle back on the table and looks at his hands for a second. "I've never had sex," he says. "Which I know--fuck, it's not like I want that to be a big deal," he goes on, which is good, because Clarke has no idea how to respond to this information. "I don't--it's shitty and I don't want to care, but I don't know what to do with that."

Clarke doesn't either. It's not like she sits around wondering how much sex her friends have had. But if anyone had asked, she definitely would have _assumed_ Bellamy had some. She's not sure she would have guessed he'd had sex since they met, but it's not like she's had much sex since they met either.

That's the stupid thing about sex; people care that you haven't had it yet, but everyone understands a dry spell. Clarke worried about her virginity until she lost it, and then she felt stupid for caring in the first place, even though the whole world was telling her to care.

And Bellamy does--he seems like the type who would have lost his virginity early. She would have assumed. And he's not one of those guys who's hyper concerned with his masculinity, but--it would be awkward, she thinks. Even with _her_ , he looks awkward.

She leans against his side. "Okay. You brought it up, so you want to talk about it. Give me some guidance. You know it's not a big deal, I know it's not a big deal, but we also both know why it feels that way. So I need to know what advice you need."

"So do I," he says, resting his head on hers. "I don't know. Miller asked if I wanted to go on a double-date with him."

"And you don't know?"

"I should, right?"

"If your best argument is that you should, I'm always going to say no," Clarke says. "Do you want to?"

"Fuck, I don't know. I don't care much about, like-- _this_ date. I have no investment in some random person Miller knows. But--yeah, I want to date _someday_. And I feel like the longer I go, the less--if I don't know what to do with a date I don't care about, what will I do with one I do?"

"Okay, so--I think it's actually easier. It feels harder, because you don't want to fuck up, but when you're invested, it's--you worry about different stuff."

"Great."

"Going on dates just to go on dates sucks. Don't do that."

He clears his throat. "And sex?"

"You might meet someone who's an asshole about it," Clarke grants. "But if they are, you dump them." She drums her fingers on his leg. "I think you should go on the blind date."

"Yeah?" he asks.

"It's probably going to bug you, so you might as well get the first date over with. You aren't invested in her, so it can just be kind of--training wheels date."

He laughs. "That sounds so shitty."

"It does, but just because you think it's going to be terrible. But all you really have to do is go, have dinner with someone, make small talk, and go home. You're going to be fine."

"I hate small talk," he grumbles.

"Then you'll figure out dates suck and stop."

"Great." He turns his head so his nose is in her hair. "Thanks. For--you know."

"Any time," she says, and means it, even if it's kind of awful. She'll deal.

*

Clarke spends the night of Bellamy's date playing Overwatch and listening to loud music so she won't think about what he's doing. It's not like she thinks he's going to get married or anything. He's probably not going to even go on a second date.

But he's going to get one _someday_. He's smart and cool and charming, unspeakably hot, and loves kids. He's the definition of a catch.

Which is the last thing she wants to think about. Hence video games and rock music.

He texts just after nine-thirty: _I hate everything, can I come over?_

Her smile is a little ridiculous, so of course she says yes. It only takes him fifteen minutes to show up, dressed in a crisp button down and slacks, and he collapses into her couch with a deep sigh.

"That bad?"

"Fuck, I don't even know. She wasn't, like, miserable. I think she liked me. But I just felt so weird the whole time. I'd never even met her. I felt like I was grading her, which is fucked up, right?"

"A little, yeah."

"I wasn't trying to. I don't think she noticed. But--yeah."

"Okay, so, first lesson, blind dates probably aren't for you."

"Yeah, pretty sure no."

"That's cool. It's a data point."

"I love when you talk science to me," he teases.

"Too bad for you I almost never do."

"Plus I spent the whole date being nervous she'd want to kiss me and I'd fuck it up."

"Have you never even kissed anyone?" 

"No, I have. But it's been, like--fuck, eight years? Spin-the-bottle at a party in high school."

"Wow."

"I just--I never had _time_. It wasn't a priority."

Clarke and Bellamy met when she was working at her campus bookstore. Bellamy was one of the part-time workers they hired for textbook rush and the two of them had gotten off on the wrong foot because Bellamy didn't realize she was a manager, and once he did, he was bitter about it. Clarke had assumed it had to do with her gender, because all the other managers were guys, but when Bellamy finally apologized, she found out it was her age and because he'd heard her mom worked for the college. Clarke was good at her job, but she also had a lot of ins and luck, and when she acknowledged that to Bellamy, they suddenly started being friends, so quickly it shocked her. It still took a while before he told her everything about himself, of course, but by now, she thinks she has a good picture. 

The part he wears on his sleeve is his sister, how much he loves her. He talks about her readily, so it was easy to think it didn't go much deeper. He got custody after their mother died, got her through high school and into college, and it's enough to explain a lot about him.

Later, he would tell her just how bad his mother was. She never went to a doctor, never got a diagnosis, but something went wrong with her mind, after his sister was born. She got paranoid, was convinced that people were after her, after Octavia. An ex-lover, the government, a supernatural entity. Bellamy was never sure if they were all connected or separate delusions, but it didn't really matter. His mother was sick and never wanted to stay in the same place for long, and it fell on him to take care of his sister long before she actually died.

"I'm not judging," she says. "Just--you're so _pretty_. How could anyone resist you?" 

He doesn't smile, which makes her nervous. "Yeah, about that."

"What about it?" she asks, keeping her voice light.

"Were you serious about practice dates?"

"If you really think it'll help."

"No, not really. But, uh--" He rubs his face, looking profoundly uncomfortable. "What about making out?"

Clarke freezes. She feels, absurdly, like _she's_ being a bad person here, like she's taking advantage of him even being asked. But it's his idea, and he's so awkward about it that she thinks she'll be an asshole if she says no, too.

"Sorry, it was stupid," he says, when she doesn't respond. "I shouldn't have--"

"No, I don't mind," she says. "Just surprised. You--" There are a thousand things she could ask, but she ends up with, "Do you really want to?"

"Yeah." There's no hesitation, and she knows he doesn't mean it like she wants him to, but it's still kind of awesome. "You'll tell me if I'm bad at it."

She laughs. "You're not going to be bad, Bellamy."

"Your confidence in me is appreciated but totally unfounded. Seriously, I was sixteen playing spin-the-bottle, I didn't even use my tongue."

"Yeah, but most people don't actually have kissing lessons. They just figure it out."

"And they're supposed to be better at it by the time they're my age." He wets his lips, which is distracting at the best of times and apocalyptic now. "Can we, uh--can I?"

She shifts a little closer. "Now?"

"Carpe diem, right?"

"Okay. Go for it."

Clarke has, of course, thought a lot about potential scenarios where she might kiss Bellamy, and a lot of them were like this, the two of them on the couch, joking around, and then they'd be kissing.

In her fantasies, Bellamy wasn't overthinking everything, but he probably should have been. That's kind of how he is. If he wasn't nervous about his inexperience, he'd be nervous about something else.

"Okay," he says, slides one hand into her hair and leans in to press his mouth against hers. It's nothing particularly revolutionary, except--it's still _Bellamy kissing her_ , and that's inherently awesome.

He doesn't seem to know where to go with it, so Clarke presses back, trading short, soft kisses with him as he relaxes under her mouth, gets used to the easy back and forth. He sighs into it, tangles his hand into her hair, and Clarke isn't even thinking of practice when she deepens the kiss. She just wants more of him.

When he pulls back, she has to remind herself to let him go.

"Okay?" he asks. His voice is even deeper than usual, husky and wrecked.

"Good instincts," she says. "Don't worry about it."

"Cool. Thanks."

"Did you want to kiss her?" she can't help asking.

He looks confused. "Who?"

"The girl you went out with tonight."

"Oh. Not really."

"But next time you want to make out with someone, you can just--not worry about it. You'll be fine."

"Yeah," he says. And then he clears his throat. "Or we could make out some more. Just to make sure I've got the hang of it."

"If you want," she says, but she's already leaning in.

They make out for almost an hour, and when he leaves, he kisses her one more time and says, "Thanks. I feel a lot better."

She manages a smile. "Sure. Any time."

*

Clarke's romantic life has been basically dead for a year, ever since she slept with a cool girl named Niylah and then accidentally freaked out because she realized she was in love with her best friend. And she probably should have, at some time in the last year, mentioned that to Bellamy, but he was so busy before, and now he's--

Now they made out and it was awesome and he wants to date someone and she still doesn't know what to say to make that person _her_.

"Is there a next step to dating?" she asks him at the bar three days later. They've been talking as normal, texting and chatting, and making out seems to have had no impact on their relationship at all. Which is--maybe good. It's better than it having a negative impact.

"I don't know. Is this when I sign up for a dating website? How do people meet people?"

"You think Clarke knows?" Raven asks. "Clarke doesn't date. She should probably be asking you for tips."

"Buddy system dating," Bellamy says. 

"Yeah, that doesn't sound like a train wreck at all," Raven mutters.

"I'm just making conversation," Clarke says.

"My next step to dating is trying to notice when people are interested in me," he says. "Miller says I suck at that."

"Oh, absolutely," says Niylah, bright, and Clarke scowls at her.

"Octavia says I need to open myself up to the possibilities of the universe," Bellamy goes on, thankfully ignoring her. "Her new roommate is really new age-y, I'm kind of worried. But I guess I'm trying to do that. Possibilities are cool."

"So your plan for dating is hoping someone hits on you and you notice," Raven supplies.

"Basically, yeah. Before I wasn't thinking about it either way, so this is progress, right?"

Clarke pats his shoulder. "Definitely. You're progressing all over the place."

"Obviously," he says, and waits until Raven and Niylah have taken off to say, " _Are_ you dating?"

"What do you mean?"

"You haven't told me about any dates in a while. So are they just not going anywhere or--"

"I'm not really looking," she says. "Not opposed, but--I'm not going out and hitting on people or anything."

"Yeah." He clears his throat. "Tell me if I'm being an asshole."

"Always, yeah."

"I like making out."

"Yeah, most people do."

"That's a thing, right? Uh--casual."

She has to smile. "If you're trying to make a point, you kind of suck at it."

"I really had fun making out with you," he says, on a huff. "You want to do that more?"

It's an even worse idea than it was to just do it once. It shouldn't have happened before, but--

"Now?" she asks.

"In general." He pauses. "And now, yeah."

"Let me just close up my tab."

*

"I might be sexually frustrated," Bellamy admits, between kisses.

"Twenty-four-year-old virgin who sacrificed eighteen years of his life to take care of his sister," Clarke says. "How would you ever be sexually frustrated?"

"Shut up." They started kissing as soon as they got into his apartment, didn't even bother taking off their shoes, and Clarke's fingers are flirting with the hem of his shirt. She's hoping _casual_ involves more than just kissing. "I jerk off."

"I bet I could do it better," she says, and he groans and presses his mouth down her neck.

"Fuck, you want to?"

"Just making out gets frustrating too." She hesitates, but she's pretty sure if this was a normal casual hookup, with no feelings involved, she'd say it, so she adds, "Do you know how wound up I was after last time?"

He pulls back, staring at her, and she thinks she fucked up, but he says, "Really?"

"You weren't?"

"Of course I was, just--" He laughs, leans in and kisses her again. "Casual sex. I could have casual sex."

"Practice is good, right?"

To her surprise, he jerks back, looking genuinely worried. "That's not--I wasn't even--it's not like that."

"You want to get laid," she teases. "It's okay. I want to get laid too."

"Yeah, just--" He kisses her long and slow, getting used to it. "Why do I feel like less of a dick if I just want to get laid? It's not practice."

"I don't know. But I believe you." She wets her lips, tugs him gently. "Your room?"

"Yeah."

It's a little awkward once they get into his bedroom, Bellamy not sure what to do next, so Clarke just turns away from him to strip off her shirt and jeans. She's wearing a plain black bra, but her underwear is blue and lacy, so at least he's probably--

When she turns, he is staring, which is nice.

"Fuck, I knew you were hot, but--" He grins. "You're out of my league, huh?"

She blushes, of course, because she was kind of nervous, and he looks so--awed. Like he doesn't realize how good he looks all the time.

She sits down on his bed. "Only one way to find out. Take it off, Blake."

He grins, tugs his sweater up over his head and kicks off his own jeans. He's all lean muscle, broad and firm, and the stupid love confession bubbles in her throat. She _adores_ him. And he's unfairly hot. So now is probably not the time. It's not like she didn't love him before she saw him in his boxers.

"Yeah, you'll do," she says instead. "Come over here."

He leans down, presses his mouth against hers, and she tangles one hand in his hair, keeping him close.

"How long's it been since you got laid?" he murmurs, pushing her onto her back.

"No comment."

He laughs. "I told you mine, and it was more embarrassing."

"Niylah. Last year."

"Cool." He nuzzles her jaw. "So, not being weird, but can I play with your breasts?"

"It would be weirder if you didn't," she says. He still seems to need encouragement, so she tugs his hand up for him.

"Oh," he says, and gives her a kind of experimental squeeze, like he thinks something is going to go wrong. 

Mostly, she's just annoyed at all the fabric between her skin and his, and when he does it again, she huffs and takes the bra off.

"That wasn't a sign you should stop," she tells him, amused. He's staring again. "It means you should keep going."

"Yeah," he manages, and his mouth finds hers, getting desperate. His hands are huge and rough, and the sound she makes when he squeezes her nipple between his fingers is luckily mostly swallowed by the kiss.

So of course he moves his mouth to her neck and does it again, harder.

"Fuck, Bellamy," she manages, squirming beneath him.

"I'm doing it right?" he asks, looking at her through his eyelashes.

"Yeah, that's good."

"Cool." He wets his lips. "Do you want me to ask before I--"

"No, I think you're good." She slides back on his bed, pulling him on top of her, and he kisses her again, long and deep and wet. His hand keeps working her breast, experimental, trying to figure out what she likes.

Which is everything, of course. It's _him_.

"You need to start getting me off or I'm doing it myself," she manages, breathless. 

"How do you want to get off?" he asks.

She shoves her underwear off and takes his hand again, placing it between her legs. His fingers slide in her folds and he actually laughs aloud, a bright, surprised sound.

"God, you're so wet," he says, delighted.

"Playing with my breasts does that."

"I did that," he says, smug. She's going to give him a snappy response, something at least a little snarky, but he gets her clit and all she actually manages is a kind of broken moan. "And that," he adds, settling in. "There's good?"

"You found the clit, good job," she manages, and he nips her shoulder.

"Be nice or I'll stop," he says, and he's probably bluffing, but he increases the pressure, and it's hard enough to talk after that, let alone try to tease him. 

She comes with Bellamy's mouth on her shoulder and his fingers on her clit, and she has to shove him off once she's done because it's way too much.

He's grinning at her, as wide and genuinely happy as she's ever seen him, and that's too much too.

"So, I did that right "

"You're good, yeah." She takes a second to regain her breath. "What do you want?"

"What?"

She rolls over so she can nuzzle his neck. "That's how it works. You get me off, I get you off."

"Oh. Yeah, uh--fuck, I don't know. Anything is going to be awesome. What do you like?"

"I don't have a dick, so--"

"What do you like _doing_ to dicks, Jesus," he says, laughing, and she leans up for another kiss.

He's already hard when she pushes his boxers down, which is no surprise, and it's not really a surprise either that his dick is _big_ , that it feels hot and perfect in her fingers, but it's kind of unexpected that reality is somehow as good as she hoped it would be. 

"We're doing this again, right?" she asks. "You don't have to fuck me tonight."

"Yeah, let's do this a lot," he says. His hips push against her hand. "Lube, maybe?"

"Just wanted to grope you first," she says. "Where is it?"

She slicks up her hand and jerks him off hard and fast, treasuring every moan and gasp, every time he says her name. And when he comes, he slumps against her, mouth open against her neck.

"Oh fuck." He laughs. "Wow. I didn't think that would work."

"What wouldn't?"

"I thought you'd, uh--I wasn't really sure you weren't going to kick my ass for the _casual sex_ thing."

"I like getting laid."

He kisses her hair. "That's what I was hoping you'd say, yeah."

She's tired and warm and content, but it would be beyond stupid for her to stay. Of course, when she tries to get up, his arm tightens around her.

"You don't seriously want to walk back to the bar to get your car, do you?" he asks. "Just crash. I'll make you breakfast."

It's not like she's never crashed at his place before; she does it once or twice a month. But she's usually not in his bed, mostly naked.

Which just makes it less appealing to leave, honestly.

"You better not snore," she mutters, and he snorts and kisses her hair.

"Like a chainsaw. Night, Clarke."

*

It feels like hooking up should be more profound than making out, but it isn't, really. In the morning, he makes them breakfast, and he doesn't try to kiss her goodbye or anything. But it does become a _thing_ after that. Not once and done. Clarke has never had a friend with benefits before, but she's pretty sure that's what it is. And as benefits go, they're _awesome_. Bellamy knows her better than anyone else, and they already get along, have an easy, natural vibe that translates well to sex. He's still a little nervous about his inexperience, which mostly means he asks before he does anything new and is always happy to get feedback.

He likes using his mouth, and when she tells him he's better at oral than any other guy she's been with, he's proud for all of two minutes before he's asking how he can get better than the girls too. He has perfect hands, and she loves the feel of his dick in her hands or her mouth.

They haven't actually gotten around to him fucking her yet, and she's sort of holding back. She's not one of those people who thinks vaginal penetration is the be all and end all, but--she does think she's going to have trouble giving that up, once they start.

Like it's somehow going to be _easy_ to stop just hooking up with him. Which she will, of course. Because he still wants to date. And he'll find someone else to appreciate his fantastic mouth and perfect hands and early-morning bedhead and sleepy smiles.

"Talk me through how stupid I'm being," she tells Wells. Bellamy left the bar early last night because he had a job interview, and she's trying really hard to not read into it. He texted that it went well, but--she could have relaxed him first, right? He could have used it.

"You're being stupid," says Wells. He lives in California, which means he can't mock her in person like Raven would. It's the only reason she picked him for this conversation. "Is this about Bellamy?"

"We started fucking. Kind of."

"How do you kind of fuck someone? Does he believe in pulling out as a form of birth control? Because you know better."

"We're on third base and we like it."

"So what's the stupid part?"

"It's just fucking. We're doing the casual thing."

He snorts. "Doesn't he know you're awful at being casual about anything?"

"Shut up. It's--like we always are. But with sex."

"And you're in love with him."

"Yeah," she says. "Like I always am."

"So is this where I try to tell you to just ask him out and you ignore me like always? Does this conversation get better now that you're sleeping with him?"

"I want to tell him. But it feels weirder now that we're--I probably should have told him first."

"I would have told you to, yeah." He sighs. "Look, if your friendship can survive the casual sex thing, it can probably survive you being in love with him. So just tell him. If you guys are already best friends and sleeping together, he'd be an idiot to not want to date you." He pauses. "He'd be an idiot to not want to date you no matter what, but--you know what I mean."

"I know." She sighs. "I don't want him to feel like he has to date me because we've been hooking up."

"Do you really think he'd do that to you?" he asks.

"Not on purpose. But--he'd never want to hurt me."

"Yeah. And you know how much it would suck for him if he found out what this was doing to you."

"It's awesome," she protests. But she knows exactly what he means. "That was a good pep talk. Thanks."

"I'm rooting for you."

"Yeah. I know."

*

It _is_ a good pep talk, and she knows Wells is right. She just can't figure out the best time to ask Bellamy about it. She wants to do it in person, but they're both busy for the next few days, and she doesn't know how to just ask him to meet up with her. It feels so _formal_ , and she doesn't want him to know how much she's been planning the whole thing. She'd love the illusion of sponteniety.

But it's just an illusion, because of course she still has a clear plan: she'll go with him on Friday as normal, but when they get back to his place, she'll tell him she thinks casual is a bad idea and they should date. Or--something less awkward. She's still working on the exact phrasing. But she's going to do it. She has to.

On the night in question, Bellamy's running late and Niylah's busy, so it's just Clarke and Raven, and Raven is still working on seducing the bartender, so Clarke is fooling around with her phone and trying not to be too nervous. If she were a less good friend--and, honestly, less generally terrified of the whole thing--she'd tell Raven what's going on, but for one, it would ruin Raven's hitting on Gina, and honestly, that sounds almost as bad as telling Bellamy. The only reason she managed to tell Wells is that he's so far away.

"What are you playing?"

Clarke startles up. The guy smiling at her is attractive, big and broad with a perfect white-teeth smile. "What?" she asks. More because he's so attractive than because she didn't hear him.

His smile turns a little sheepish. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to interrupt. I was just wondering what you were playing. I've been looking for a new game for my commute."

She perks up; it's possible one of her favorite thing is to tell asshole guys that she's a total gamer and then name all of her favorite free-to-play iPhone apps and pretend to not understand when they say that doesn't count. So she considers herself something of an expert.

"What was your old one?"

"Do you know Flow?"

She gets sucked into the conversation without much trouble, probably in large part because talking to Lincoln about anything is better than thinking about Bellamy and the conversation she's going to have with him. But it's also a pretty fun conversation, honestly.

Which is why it's a total surprise when Bellmay presses against her back, kisses her cheek, and says, "Hey, sorry I'm late."

It's the first time he's ever shown such direct affection in public, and when she glances back, his jaw is tight, and he's looking at Lincoln with a kind of wary aggression that she's not used to seeing.

She's not even going to look at Raven and Gina; she doesn't want to know.

"No problem," she tells him, and leans back against his chest. He started it; she might as well take advantage of the situation. "This is Lincoln, he wanted app recommendations. Lincoln, Bellamy."

"Nice to meet you. Thank you for your help, Clarke. I'm looking forward to trying Pokemon Shuffle."

Bellamy slumps into Lincoln's stool as soon as he vacates it, and Clarke raises her eyebrows.

"What?" he says, with the surly aggression he only ever uses when he's embarrassed.

"Bad day at the office?" she asks, giving him the out. They're going to talk about this, but they're going to do it in private, without Raven and Gina eavesdropping.

"I hate this job," he mutters, deflating. "I need to report them for labor violations, but I can't until I get a new job."

"More unpaid overtime?"

"I didn't read the boss's mind, so it was my fault."

"Which means they don't have to pay you."

"That's what I hear, yeah." His smile turns sheepish. "So, uh, I can go tell that guy I'm a dick, if you want to--"

"Just buy me a drink and we're even." She pauses, but--they are having this conversation later. She can start laying groundwork. So she bumps her shoulder against his and adds, "It's not like I was going home with him or anything."

She can see his shoulders slump in relief. "You could," he says, without any feeling.

"Yeah. But I wasn't."

"Cool." He waves to Gina, who's smirking at them. As expected. "What are you drinking?"

She doesn't really feel like drinking or hanging out much, not when she could be dragging Bellamy back to his place and asking him why he was acting like a jealous boyfriend. Luckily, Bellamy doesn't seem much more inclined to stay, so they end up taking off after only an hour and a half and two drinks.

Once they're gone, Raven texts, _please tell me you got your head out of your ass_ , and Clarke thinks it over and says, _I'll let you know_.

"That was out of line," Bellamy offers, before they're back at his place. "I shouldn't have--it was out of line, yeah ."

"What was _it_ , exactly?" she asks.

He smiles with half his mouth. "Being an asshole."

"Why?"

"You know why."

She steps closer, takes his hand and squeezes it. "I really need to hear you say it, though."

He huffs. "Why do I have to say it?"

"Because every time I've rehearsed having this conversation, I can't figure out how to start, so--"

"Oh." He laughs. "Okay, yeah, that helps." He squeezes her hand once and then lets go to unlock his front door. Once they're up to his apartment and inside, he takes a breath and says, "Yeah. I thought you were--I was jealous. He was hot. I just thought about you--going home with him and having a relationship with him, and--fuck, Clarke. I really don't want that."

Her arms wind around his neck easily, and she smiles as she leans up to kiss him. "You're the reason I don't date," she informs him.

As expected, it makes him pause, and this is what scared her. She doesn't think he knew. He wasn't pining away for her. He didn't ask her about this as part of a complicated scheme to get her into a relationship. But--she agreed, knowing how she felt about him. Knowing how much she wanted him, all of him.

"You haven't dated since Niylah," he says.

"Yeah. That was when I--"

To her relief, he leans down and kisses her, warm and fond, his hand sliding into her hair.

"You're making me feel so much better about this," he murmurs. "I was just being an idiot _tonight_."

"You were--you had a lot going on. Octavia and work and--"

He kisses her again. "I would have made time. God, I wasn't--I never thought you'd--"

"You're a dumbass sometimes," she says, fond. "I love you. Do you want to get dinner with me sometime?"

"Yeah." He grins. "I need to get better at dating, right?"

"You really don't. You're way ahead of me."

"I can't believe I came to you for help, yeah." His smile is the warmest thing she's ever seen. "But seriously, I have no idea how to be in a relationship, so--"

"You're a natural," says Clarke. "We'll be fine."

*

In the morning, he makes breakfast, but they get distracted making out, and afterward she ends up riding him on the couch without even meaning to, just because she's in his lap and she wants to so much.

"Jesus," he says, laughing, as she slides off him. "That really is awesome."

"Should have tried the dating thing sooner," she teases.

He wraps his arm around her, kisses her hair. "Nah. I think this was my best-case dating scenario. Why bother with anything else?"

It feels like she might explode from happiness, which makes it hard to argue. "Yeah," she says. "Why bother?"


End file.
